Of Rocket Ships and Dragonflies
by MonChan94
Summary: AU: 6 years after turning his back on the Rebellion, Han Solo wakes up in a desert next to the charred remains of the Falcon. A familiar face from his past gives him a glimpse of what his life would have been like if he'd chosen a different path. H/L Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Of Rocket Ships and Dragonflies **

"This is not my fault."

The lie slipped out of his mouth as smoothly as butter spreads on warm bread. Like a trust worthy friend that he could always rely on, those five words had become something of a personal motto over the years, finding their way into his readily accessible vocabulary whatever the situation. In most cases, the lack of the word "entirely" was the only dishonesty he could be accused of. But this time, for the first time in his life, he knew the moment he said them that those five words were complete bullshit.

The explanation was a simple one: the Falcon had crashed, and he was the reason.

Han Solo was pretty damn sure of that.

He could see the consequences right in front of him through a bulging wall of smoke and sand, almost like a scene out of a holofilm. But the setting wasn't right. There was no storm to highlight the tragic fate that had befallen the Falcon. He was not lamenting his loss in the cockpit like he ought to have been. He wasn't even on board. He was standing next to his ship, shielding his eyes from the blaze of the mid-morning sun as if he had been a silent witness to the catastrophe. There was no somber music playing in the background as he cautiously approached his damaged ship. There had been no dramatic battle between good and evil before he had lost control and collided with the planet. He was no hero. Hell, he was probably as far from a hero as it was possible to be.

The armor plating on the back of the Falcon was dented beyond recognition. The section of her underbelly that had scraped across the scraggly peaks of rock on planet's surface had been torn open like it was made of a couple of sheets of flimsy. One of the forward mandibles had snapped off to the side like a broken neck and about three quarters of the subspace-hyperdrive had been wrenched away from the mutilated craft.

Han reached out and touched the side of his Falcon.

"Don't worry baby. I'll get you fixed up." He promised as he walked along the side of his broken ship, his fingers tracing a crevice that had splintered its way down her side.

"We'll fly again in no time."

Ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut from the sight of his mangled ship, Han ducked into the shadow of the Millennium Falcon and thrust his comlink to his lips.

"Gray Four to Gray Leader. Come in Gray Leader."

The static that issued from the comlink seemed to saturate the air with a hollow drumroll. A solemn silence fell over the desert, hushing the creak of the ship, the flutter of the wind, the sizzle of the rock. Han stood as still as the scenery, digging his nails into the soft flesh of his palm and swearing under his breath.

It had always been about the money. Everyone involved in the heist knew that. They all knew that eventually the bonds between them would break and fists would fly and guns would blast and knives would stab. Trust that had never existed from the beginning would be officially lost and they'd all fight each other until someone got lucky and took off with the loot. All of it. But not now. Not yet. Not before they'd even gotten off this godforsaken mynok hole of a planet.

Any agreement between criminals was like the finer mechanics of a bicycle: it ran smoothly amidst the oil and grease until the slightest kink in the chain. Han knew that. And the silence at the other end of the line was more than enough to send a spike of adrenaline into his bloodstream.

Two moments longer than it took for a dry sweat to break out across the back of his neck, a familiar voice rose out of the sea of static.

"… This… This is Gray Leader. Over."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Han all but yelled into the comlink.

"Benedict? This is Solo. I'm in troub-."

"This is Gray Leader. State your intention. Over."

"I… I… Benedict, the Falcon crashed and I-"

"This is Gray Leader. State your intention. Over."

"Benedict I need help, I'm crash-"

"This is Gray Leader. Do you read me? Is anyone there? Over."

"It's me, you son of a bitch! It's Han Solo! Would you just-"

"This is Gray Leader logging off. Over and out."

"No! Listen! I'm here! I… Hello?"

The thick stream of static issuing from his comlink announced the departure of his only contact back in the Capital. Vakeyya was at least a thee day hike back the way he had come over the scorching desert surface of Socorro. With no sign of help on its way it was most likely that Han would die of thirst before he could even glimpse the haze of the city over the endless sea of sand.

Han shook his head, clearing any sweat-drenched strands of hair from face before drawing the comlink back to his mouth.

"Gray Four to Wire Seven. Chewie? It's me. Come in Wire Seven."

"[Hello?]"

"Chewie! Chewie you gotta help me. The Falcon crashed and I couldn't get a hold of Bene-"

"[Is anyone there?]"

"Yes! It's me, its Han! I lost control of the Falcon. I'm strand-"

"[Hello?]"

"Chewie? Chewie, please tell me you can hear-"

"[Hello? Hello?]"

"Chewie…"

The crackle of dead air hit him like a blow from the grip of a blaster. Shoving the comlink back in his pocket, Han leant back onto his ship, trying to ignore the creaks and groans resonating from the heart of the craft. His palms pressed into his eyelids, dousing his vision with darkness and offering an escape from the past 20 time parts.

"This is not my fault."

"You can tell yourself that as many times as you want. If you don't believe it yourself, it will never be the truth."

Han's head snapped up, colliding painfully with the side of the Falcon. The sting from the blow did nothing to dull his surprise at the presence of the man standing before him.

"What. The. Hell."

Obi-Wan Kenobi smiled at the Corellian. "Well hello there. Nice to see you again."

A/N So that was weird… I do,however, have an explanation for the utter randomness you just bared witness to. In short: due to a conflict of interests on a rainy Saturday night, my siblings and I ended up watching a "Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back" + "It's a Wonderful Life" double feature. The complete bizarreness of the combination managed to concoct this story.

Disclaimer: All characters in this chapter are products of George Lucas's imagination.


	2. Chapter 2

**Of Rocket Ships and Dragonflies **

Smiling broadly with crinkles in the corners of his eyes, Obi-Wan stepped forward and gazed at the crashed Falcon.

"You'll be able to fix her up, I have no doubt." He said, giving the ship a quick look over with a sweep of soft blue eyes. "It will take some time, and more than a few credits for the parts you'll need to replace, but it's certainly achievable if you want to fly her again."

Han stood silently, hardly believing what he was seeing. A loss for words did not even begin to describe the confusion that clotted his mind.

Obi-Wan turned to look at him, a quizzical expression on his face. "You _do_ want to fly the Falcon again, don't you?"

"Uh… um… y-yes. Of course. I… She… The Falcon's the fastest ship in the galaxy." Han stuttered.

Obi-Wan smiled. "So you've said on countless occasions. And, having personally flown in this ship, I quite agree. It would be a pity if she were reduced to scrap metal. Fortunately, I happen to trust in the fact that you will never let that happen. Will you, Captain Solo?"

Han nodded. "Of course not. I'll fix her up. When I've got the parts… and the money." He paused. The man before him was not real. Could not be real. The earthen robes, the white beard, the unnerving twinkle in the corner of blue eyes all brought back memories of a time and place Han had locked away in dusty corner of his mind.

Involuntarily, Han glanced at the sand around the Jedi's feet.

Dead men cast no shadows.

"Got any spare credits on you?" Han asked, only half joking.

"Certainly." Obi-Wan replied as he reached into his robes to produce a small leather bag. "I've been meaning to give these away for some time. I have no use for them now. Obviously." He commented, handing the small, but heavy, pouch over to Han.

Han wasn't sure whether he had hoped or expected the credit pouch to fall through his hands like the credits of a ghost ought to. As the leather brushed against his skin and the weight of the credits pressed into his palms, however, Han couldn't ignore the instinctive shiver that shot down his spine.

"All right Old Man, quit messin' around and tell me why in all the Hells of Corellia you're here." Han demanded.

Obi-Wan offered only a confused look in return. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure I quite understa-"

"Don't give me that! You know Godsdamn well what I'm talkin' about!" Han yelled, reaching for his blaster.

"Calm down, Captain Solo." Obi-Wan said in a voice that betrayed his lack of surprise at the Corellian's outburst.

Han gaped at the old Jedi. "CALM DOWN?" he yelled, "Last time I checked, ghosts don't go wandering 'round in the desert offering money to former acquaintances!"

"A ghost, Captain? What makes you think I'm a ghost?"

"I saw you DIE, for kreth's sake!"

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Ah yes. I remember that. The Death Star. Six years ago."

Han nodded. "Almost to the day."

"I suppose it is. The Battle of Yavin was a great victory in the eyes of the universe, Captain. A smudge of hope in the swirling darkness of pointless existence."

Han gritted his teeth. "Forget the Rebellion, Kenobi. That's over now. It's done. They lost. What I'm concerned about is the fact that I can't figure out for the life of me why, and how, you're here."

"I was about to ask you the same question." Obi-Wan replied.

Han pounded his fist against the hull of the falcon, wincing at the sound of protest that resonated from her core. "Open your eyes, Old Man! The Falcon's destroyed! I'm stranded in the middle of a desert! Its hotter than Hell, I have no contact with anyone back in the city and I'm stuck with a kriffing ghost for company! What else do you want from me?"

Obi-Wan raised his hands defensively. "I understand your frustration completely, Captain. Your anger is justified and you channel it well. It just seems somewhat peculiar to me that you are standing _outside_ of the Falcon."

Han paused, one hand against the Falcon, the other still tensed on the grip of his blaster. "I just figured I must have abandoned ship right before we crashed." He muttered, ignoring the sneaking suspicion that had been chewing away at the edge of his brain since he had regained consciousness in the sand.

Obi-Wan frowned. "That doesn't sound like something you would do."

"No, it doesn't." Han agreed, already turning towards the cockpit, a sudden unsettling sensation congealing in the pit of his stomach.

Leaving Obi-Wan where he had found him, Han picked up the pace and all but sprinted to the front of his charred ship. Ignoring the smoke billowing from the top of the craft, he pulled himself onto the vessel so that he was standing above the cockpit, the blazing desert sun shining daggers into his back.

Through the splintered glass Han could make out the silhouette of a man sitting at the controls. The man was bent forward in his seat, his face pressing into the dials on the dashboard, his jaw slack, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

Heart catching in his throat, Han shot a round of blaster bolts into the jammed emergency hatch at the top of the cockpit, shattering it completely. The jagged edges of the glass shards sliced his hands as he lowered himself into his ship.

Covering his mouth with a bloodstained hand, Han tried not to inhale as he crossed the scorched cabin that had once been his home. The panic in his chest distorted his vision. Switches, dials and blinking lights scattered over the blackened walls swam in and out of focus as he stumbled across the alien room.

The man at the controls was wearing a vest that looked like it had been sewn together with multicolor patches of dry, damp, and blood soaked leather. Reaching forward with both hands, Han clasped the man's shoulders and wrenched him away from the control panel, ignoring the squelching sound as the man's face was ripped away from the dials.

As he turned to look at the man, Han almost chocked on the bile that rose in the back of his throat. The face was distorted, imprints from the controls denting the lifeless face. A trickle of dried blood carved a line down from the hairline to the chin, splitting the face in two. Hardly daring to accept what he'd suspected from the moment he'd regained consciousness, Han looked up into the dead man's face.

A pair of sightless eyes stared back at him.

Familiar eyes.

His eyes.

A/N Confession: I may have sort of completely forgot about this story. That was my bad. Basically, the school year is coming to an end I was sorting through the documents on my computer when I re-discovered it. I'm really sorry and I promise to make my updates more regular.

Disclaimer: All characters in this chapter are products of George Lucas's imagination.


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